


A Winter Night

by Aella_Antiope



Series: Mondlicht [3]
Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Angst, Future Fic, Love Confessions, M/M, Regret, Romance, Snapshots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:32:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3193688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aella_Antiope/pseuds/Aella_Antiope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a cold winter night at the castle. Yuuri regrets a little and Murata regrets nothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Winter Night

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to nekoshojo for her her encouragement.

Life was always full of surprises. Yozak mused. He’d never had thought that the spoilt brat would give up on his almost scarily blind loyalty to the young king enough so he would marry the Great Sage, a marriage that, despite what many would say wasn’t in any way political.

Well, Yozak conceded, _EVERYTHING_ was political, but the primary motivation of that marriage wasn’t, as far as he could see. He hadn’t seen such mutual love and devotion since Nicola and Huber had been reunited. It would almost be sickening, really, but Yozak admired and cared for the Sage, so he couldn’t muster up too much disgust at his friend’s obvious happiness.

It was with that thought, as he left the party, that he almost stumbled onto the young king.

The king was leaning against the wall, just outside, and Yozak was annoyed at himself for not noticing, drunk or not, what type of a spy was he if didn’t notice something so obvious?

“Do you need any help, kiddo?”

“No, I’m just going to bed,” the king said...”I just had to stop...because the floor isn’t very steady.”

“Floors are annoying that way,” Yozak replied dryly. “Do you need any help getting back?”

“I’ll be fine.” Yuuri waved a hand, somewhat unsteadily towards him.

Yozak leaned against the wall next to him, he really didn’t want to leave him alone like this, well, as alone as one can be with two guards stationed on either end of the hallway.

“Wolf looks happy. He looks...really _happy_ ,” Yuuri said slowly in mix of confusion and maybe regret.

Yozak wasn’t really that surprised by the latter.

“Marriage suits him,” Yozak said lightly. He would have said more, if it was with anyone else, something along the lines of ‘he’s the kind of person who thrives on love and stability’ but that would have been unkind under the circumstances.

“I never was able to make him that happy.”

Again, there were a hundred different things Yozak could have said to that, and ninety-nine of them would have been somewhat unkind. He kept to the simple truth, it was unkind as well, but at least it wasn’t cruel. At least for Yozak there was a definite difference.

“You never married him,” Yozak said honestly.

“No...and I can’t change that, can I?” It was a statement more than a question, which Yozak was glad for, because at least it meant the king had accepted that truth.

“Go home to your wife, kid.”

Yuuri nodded and took two uneven steps down the corridor. “I don’t think I could have made him happy if I had married him. That thought hurts the most.” Yuuri said softly, he wasn’t facing him, but his words were clear enough for Yozak to hear him. Then, unsteadily the king disappeared down the corridor.

~***~

Murata had to admit, there were very few places to be now, than in bed with a wine sozzled Wolfram.

Outside it was snowing lightly, tomorrow they would have to return to the temple if they didn’t want to spend their first winter in the castle, and somehow he had a feeling that Wolfram didn’t want that. He hoped that Wolfram looked forward to those weeks they would have alone as much as he did.

Wolfram face flushed and hair in a fine spray of blond disarray, spread his arms and legs out on the mattress of their bed out and practically giggled, before rolling against him. It was certainly a side Murata had never seen, and Murata wasn’t complaining. “I can’t get the image of the ambassador’s wife...falling straight on her face...after...after.” Wolfram snorted into Murata’s night shirt. It had been a funny sight, and the girl had laughed herself into hiccupping tears as Lord von Voltaire had rather awkwardly tried to help her up and almost fallen on his face as well. At least nobody would be too embarrassed the next morning. She seemed like someone with good humour.

It had been a good night.

It was all thanks to Shibuya. The young king had decided to have a Winter Party, for those few who were in the capital. Which meant for a small party, only a handful of nobles, the mayor, a few diplomats and, of course his inner circle. It was casual-formal. Shibuya didn’t want politics, and the only thing that had made his demand reasonable was the lack of people there to make politics happen.

Not that politics could be avoided altogether, but it hadn’t made up a large part of the party, and towards the end of the night the party had dwindled down to the inner circle, Shibuya, Lady Claudia having retired earlier, Wolfram’s brothers, Lady Anissina, Greta, Yozak and Lord Numbry and his wife Lady Louise. Lord Numbry was a rather merry, straightforward ambassador from a human nation who Murata was rather fond of, and his young wife who had only just arrived in the city (and the kingdom) a month before, and had, as they found out, not much of a head for alcohol. 

Murata had enjoyed himself a lot, more importantly it seemed that Wolfram had also – had become relaxed talking to his brother and then later, with a large helping of alcohol in some silly game with Yozak. He didn’t think he’d live to see that day.

“I think you might want to take him to bed,” Yozak had said. Wolfram had fallen asleep leaning against Lord Weller, one cheek mashed in a way that Murata couldn’t help find endearing. If he was on Earth he’d be tempted to photo the scene.

He looked at Wolfram now in bed next to him, in his modest cotton nightgown, all loose limbed and pretty. Wolfram had a small smile on his face, his face slightly red, his lips so cute like a bow. On the field his Wolfram was magnificent, strong thighs, wide shoulders and strong straight back. The perfect warrior. In his bed he was an angel. Often a very sexy, possessive angel. A fission of desire went travelled down his spine at the thought of how possessive Wolfram could be. Probably not tonight, too much alcohol...but there was plenty of time over winter, and so many different things he wanted to try with his new husband now they had the luxury of long night and sleep ins and that incredibly large and soft bed.

Wolfram turned to him, with that gorgeous smile and it broke something in him. 

“I love you,” he said absolutely, surprising himself with his declaration. It was like his whole body was alight with the certainty of those words. It wasn’t that Murata had ever been shy with saying it before- Wolfram needed to hear him say it, just as much, if not more than he wanted to say it, so he did, every day, every opportunity he could. But right now, the realisation of what he had, how lucky he was almost a physical sensation, a tightness in his chest. He loved his husband so much.

“I love you,” he said it once more. Because saying it once, as he felt that heaviness in his chest, wasn’t nearly enough.

Wolfram turned to him, his mouth slightly open, and his eyes wide as he regarded him with a mixture of surprise and a little shyness.

“Don’t…don’t…” Wolfram stuttered out and then buried his face against Murata’s chest. 

Murata laughed a little and buried his hands in the whispery silky softness of Wolfram’s hair, massaging Wolfram’s scalp gently. “I love you. I love you. I love you so much. You’re the best thing that has happened to me.”

“Don’t lie,” Wolfram mumbled against his nightshirt. 

“I’m not. It’s the truth.”

There was silence for a moment and then Wolfram raised himself on one arm and looked down at him, a searching look as he studied Murata carefully and then leaned down and touched his lips against his, it wasn’t a passionate kiss, just a peck, but Murata knew it was Wolfram’s way of acknowledging his words.

“So do I,” Wolfram said in a whisper a moment later and settled against him. They lay there for a while, the world around them silent. He knew Wolfram was still awake, his breathing even.

“I keep expecting you to leave,” Wolfram said, the words a little tremulous. “To become fed up with me.” He was sure, to an extent that was the influence of alcohol, Wolfram wouldn’t admit something like that sober. But it didn’t make his words any less true, or important.

Murata knew that Wolfram was self-doubting. Murata had always known that, and knowing what little he knew of Wolfram’s history it didn’t surprise him. What surprised him, and one of the reasons that Murata loved him so, is that despite those adversities he had never given up.

“I know I can’t convince you with words,” Murata said, being careful with what he said. “But I would never leave you willingly, and every day I am here, maybe, that will convince you eventually that I am here to stay. That’s all I can do.”

Wolfram curled himself around him. “You must think I’m so wretched...but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, what is right in a relationship.”

And that was not really a surprise either, what did Wolfram know of healthy relationships? His father had died when had been too little to remember much, and his mother was constantly in and out of affairs with men who didn’t care enough to stay. And as far as Murata knew, neither his brothers fared any better, though he suspected that Lady Anissina would break down Lord von Voltaire’s reserve (if not already) it still meant that most of the adults that Wolfram had in his life growing up had no significant functional relationship.

And there was Shibuya. Wolfram had been engaged to the young king for years and completely in love with him, and everyone in the kingdom knew how badly that ended. As far as Murata was concerned, it was a miracle that Wolfram would ever willingly love another after that, had even willingly tried with Shibuya. That was incredibly brave considering his history, that Wolfram had never shut himself down, in the same way his brothers had, the same way, though slightly differently, like Lady Cherie had.

Wolfram loved Murata.

For that faith, for that love, Murata would sooner chop his right hand off than hurt Wolfram. Not something he would ever say out loud, of course. But it was true.

“What is right is different for everyone. I’m sure we will make mistakes, I’m sure we will have disagreements, but as long as we are honest with each other it will be fine. I do not think you are wretched, Wolfram.” He lightened his voice. “Do you think so poorly of me? Do you think I would choose someone wretched to be my husband?”

“When you put it like that...” Wolfram murmured.

“Exactly. I have immaculate taste.”

“And so very modest,” Wolfram said dryly, and the fact that his humour was rising again, told Murata his words had reassured him.

“And thus we are a good pair, then.”

Wolfram snorted and then rolled onto his back again, taking Murata hand as they looked up at the canopy. “When did you first notice me? I wonder...”

“Hmmm...I don’t know what you mean by ‘notice’, but you certainly got my attention the moment I set eyes on you. It’s when you pulled Shibuya from falling into the ravine in the Caloria wastelands.” Murata squeezed Wolfram’s hand and turned his head look at him, Wolfram was biting his lip, his eyes glazed in memory...his hair glowing in the handful of candles that Wolfram hadn’t put out yet. “And then you threw yourself in front of Shibuya when Maxine flung those steel wires at him, without any care for your life. You were absolutely glorious...and very beautiful.”

Wolfram shook his head and met his eyes. “I was only doing my duty.”

And that makes you even more beautiful. Murata thought and he said. “At the time I thought. ‘I could easily fall in love with this beautiful boy. ’” He’d also remembered thinking how jealous he was that Shibuya had found Wolfram first, but that wasn’t something he was going to admit, it was pointless now. He never really had anything to be jealous off, ultimately. And he had no interest in speaking too much about Shibuya’s engagement with Wolfram. 

“But, you _didn’t?_ ” Wolfram said in disbelief.

“No.” Murata said truthfully. “I wouldn’t let myself love you, because you were engaged. But I did think that at that time.”

“Silly...you hardly knew me.”

It was silly if he thought about it logically, but it didn’t make it any less true, of course he had been fifteen, memories aside and knowing better, Murata had been a bit of an idealist with love. Case in point, back then he still thought that Shibuya and Wolfram would work out, though all signs said no. Murata was, even now, still an idealist when it came to love, though he had spent quite a lot of time trying not to be. Now he could say, with a little bit of pride, that it was one major thing that separated him from Daikenja and many of his formers lives. His former one as Christine had been particularly cynical, if someone with the sincerity, honesty and heart of Wolfram had approached her, she’d never would have accepted it. She never truly trusted Jose, which had been their tragedy.

“When did you notice me?” Murata said, to distract himself from those sad thoughts.

Wolfram sighed and then curled up beside him again, Murata wrapped his arms around Wolfram and enjoyed the comforting weight as Wolfram rested his cheek on his chest. “I noticed you. You were the great sage, after all. Though I must say I didn’t much think you were that good looking with the hideous yellow hair.”

“Heh, the girls all loved it.”

“Good thing you don’t care for those things now,” Wolfram said lightly, though there was a slight threat underneath. “You have lovely black wavy hair, and a nice face...and I like the way you speak. That’s what I first noticed, how you spoke, you speak like the ancient heroes in the classics I read as a child. I thought it was very romantic even when I was engaged to Yuuri. It was unfaithful of me to have such thoughts.”

Murata let that last thought of Wolfram go unremarked. Wolfram was too hard on himself, sometimes, but it wouldn’t do anything to point that out now.

“You like my voice?” He’d spent the last few years in Shin Makoku learning to use current phrases and words in the language, though he didn’t he could ever lose all the anachronisms, he couldn’t completely erase a lifetime of ancient demon dialect.

“Hmmm...,” Wolfram said sleepily. Murata brushed his hand through those silky locks. “When you are tired...or excited your voice goes back to that, and it’s...umm...sexy.” Wolfram yawned and then one by one all the candles extinguished. The last thing Wolfram always did before sleep.

“Sexy, huh?” Well, Murata would have to remember that next time.

There was no reply. Wolfram was sound asleep in his arms.

“Goodnight, love,” Murata said, his hand still buried in Wolfram’s hair, he allowed himself to drift to sleep.


End file.
